[𝐌𝐈𝐓 • 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝟏] He managed to make a sane eighteen-year-old INSANE.
~
He was fascinated by her. And he wanted to make her fascinated about him, so he played a game with her. Messed with her mind in ways he shouldn't have. The catch: he was th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
┌────────────┐ ANNE LITTLE └────────────┘
APRIL, 2006
DUSTING HER hands, she tried her very best to get the dirt off her fingers and around her nails as the pad of her thumb rubbed aggressively so it wouldn't be obvious she was just digging in the dirt under the few steps in front of the house. She didn't want Trent finding out otherwise she would pay for it. She looked closely at her fingers in the dim light illuminating everything around her, deeming her hands presentable as she picked the grocery bags back up. Walking to the door to unlock it with the key she got out of her pocket.
Stepping inside, she closed and locked the front door behind her and made her way to the kitchen only to feel her heart being punched in her chest, her body shaking for a mere second. She stepped back a few steps as she stared at her husband at the dinner table, atm resting on the table, his hazel eyes filled with poison as he stared at her in the threshold.
"It's late, isn't it?" he chastised, the tone of his voice was harsh to her ears. "Where were you?"
"Groceries. . ." she faltered, nodding her head down to the bags in her arms as if it wasn't obvious enough. His eyes trailed down to the bags, eyeing them for several seconds.
"At this hour?" He raised his eyes to meet hers, a brow raising above those diabolical eyes, creating wrinkles on his forehead. Anne couldn't help but feel interrogated by her own husband, he was pushing her into a wall and trapping her, his breath fanning down in her pale skin. "Answer me, Anne!"
She blinked, stuttering: "I—I just wanted to go and get some groceries to make your favourite dish. T—That's all." A fake smile to her thin pink lips, she only hoped it looked truthful and didn't show any dishonesty, revealing to him she went behind his back.
If it was possible, she hoped the ground beneath her opened up and swallowed her so she would be far, far away from this wicked man. It wasn't hard to tell there were some missing bolts in that brain of his, all you needed to do was stare into those eyes — they revealed everything in mere seconds.
He remained silent, letting the hair-raising atmosphere thicken the longer he sat there with his eyes lingering on her in thought. She didn't know whether she was allowed to move and put the groceries away, or just stand here and wait for his dismissal. She wasn't going to take a chance to have him pull her up by the hair, and slap her face continuously until she had a river of tears running down her pale and bruised cheeks.
"Alright," he said, grabbing her attention as she looked at him again, eyes widened to the size of saucers. He got up, pushing the chair under the table, the bottom of the legs screeching against the wooden floors, and walking toward her. Her whole body seemed to taut with each step he made toward her, instinct was telling her to run or hide or dodge him — anything — but she stood still, like her feet had been glued to the floor.
